by J. D. Wright
“Well, if you change your mind,” Celeste began, “just let me know. I can have them here in under two weeks.” She gave her niece a small pat on the shoulder and left her side, just as Cicilly walked up to greet her daughter.
“There you are!” Cicilly exclaimed to Bree, smiling as she approached. “We have been waiting for you to join us so we can begin tonight’s entertainment.”
“Entertainment? What is the occasion?” Bree asked.
“There is no occasion, really. I just hoped to lighten the mood, seeing as you are so tense dear,” Cicilly explained as she rubbed Bree’s arm, showing her concern.
“While I know Bree appreciates the thought, Queen Mother,” Rowan began, “we really shouldn’t let strangers into the castle at this time. For Bree’s safety.”
“Oh, well, she isn’t a stranger, really. You’ve met her recently, Bree, at the harvest festival. Dahlia, the bard.”
While Bree was touched by her mother’s concern and thoughtfulness, she also wanted to strangle her mother for inviting Dahlia back to the castle. Of course, Cicilly had no idea that Bree secretly wanted to cut Dahlia’s gorgeous blonde hair off of her head and feed it to the hogs.
“Thank you, Mother. That would be delightful.” Bree said, forcing a small smile. However, when Cicilly turned to walk away, Bree’s smile disappeared and was replaced by a scowl as she turned to look at Rowan.
“Whoa! I didn’t invite her. Don’t look at me.” Then he laughed to himself once Bree walked away, to take her seat on the throne. This should make for some entertainment, indeed. Though, probably not the kind that Queen Mother has in mind.
~*~
In all, supper was a success. Dahlia was just as charming this time as she had been the last, and though she did stop to toy with Rowan once or twice as she sang, she also did the same to Dagan and Finnley. She even tugged on Sir Nicholas’ beard once, causing him to turn red and making everyone laugh. Bree had enjoyed the distraction, after all.
“I’m going to refill our drinks. Don’t drink from anyone else’s cup until I get back. Do you understand?” Rowan was fairly certain Bree was ignoring him as she talked with Finnley, pretending she hadn’t heard him.
“Your Majesty…” Rowan said, impatiently. Finally, Bree waved her hand at him, signaling she understood, even if she thought he was being overprotective.
Rowan walked out of the hall and downstairs to the cellar. Since the hall was covered with knights and guards, including his father, Rowan felt safe leaving Bree alone for a few moments. Besides, Rowan didn’t trust anyone else to pour Bree’s drinks for her, for fear that someone might try to poison her. Once he made it to the room where the barrels were stored, he opened the door and stepped inside. He sat their cups down on a table beside the barrel of wine that Bree had decided to drink this evening and began to uncover the spigot.
Noticing movement out of the corner of his eye, Rowan froze for a moment, then pounced on whoever was attempting to sneak up on him. He grabbed the person by the neck, pinning them to the wall behind him with one of his daggers pointed at their ribcage. When he realized it was Dahlia that he was restraining, he released her immediately.
“I am so sorry, miss. Please forgive me. I hope I didn’t hurt you,” he said.
Once free, Dahlia straightened her skirts and fluffed her hair.
“Oh, no sir. It is my fault. Absolutely, my fault. It is I who owes you an apology. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Dahlia smiled and walked toward him. “However,” she began, “now that I have you here alone, perhaps there is something you can do to help me to… forget about this.” She advanced on him, her half covered breasts almost touching his chest.
Rowan put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. “I’m sorry, if I have confused you. I believe you have the wrong idea.”
“Do I?” she replied, attempting to approach him again, this time leaning in to kiss him. Once more, he put his hands on her shoulders and held her back, her lips just barely missing his neck.
“Have it your way, then,” she murmured to herself.
Growing irritated, Dahlia turned around and took something out of a bag hanging off of her hips. Before Rowan could react, Dahlia turned around and with her hand to her mouth, she blew him a kiss. White powder flew out of her flat palm and into Rowan’s face. It only took a matter of seconds before Rowan had breathed in the powder, unable to escape it.
Almost immediately, Rowan began to feel the effects of the powder. He started to feel sleepy but didn’t fall asleep. Instead, he hovered over the area of drowsiness a person feels just before falling asleep, unable to wake up or see clearly. The entire room was hazy, thick, and spinning slowly. His heart pounded in his chest, but he couldn’t control his heart or any other part of his body, completely unaware of what was happening around him.
Seizing a small window of opportunity, Dahlia questioned Rowan about the queen’s guards, where they were stationed when they would be fewer in numbers. Rowan answered, sometimes mumbling the answers, but replying to each question she asked.
Once she was finished with her interrogation, she took out another bottle, this time containing blue powder, and scooped out a small amount onto her hand. Putting it to her mouth again, she blew the powder across Rowan’s face.
“My, my. You are a handsome man. The queen is a lucky woman to be in your company,” Dahlia said, wiping her hands on her skirts.
“The queen,” Rowan muttered under his breath, “Bree.”
“Oh, you are on a first name basis with her now, are you? That is very interesting,” she said, running a hand down his chest. She knew the effects of the second powder would last for a while longer. She might as well take advantage. She leaned in and kissed him. He fought her at first, but only for a moment, then he started to kiss her back.
Before long, Dahlia’s corset and shirt were on the floor and Rowan had one of her breasts in his mouth, the other breast in his hand. Dahlia moaned and arched into him, rubbing against his groin, teasing him. He pushed her up against the wall behind her, nearly knocking over the table where his and Bree’s cups still sat.
Upstairs, Sidonie tried to refill her wine goblet, but the barrel was empty, so she walked over to Bree.
“Did Rowan go downstairs? To get more wine?” she asked.
“Yes, but he was only going to refill our two glasses, though. I don’t think he knows the barrel is empty,” Bree replied. “If you catch him before he comes back up, he can refill yours, too. But I would hurry because he’s been gone for a while. I expected him back by now.”
Sidonie carried her goblet with her, down the stairs and to the wine cellar. She was just about to open the door when she heard a noise. It almost sounded like a squeal. Sidonie was afraid the noise may have come from a rat, so she opened the door slowly as not to scare it.
Then there was another noise, only this time Sidonie knew it wasn’t a rat. It was a moan. Then there were two moans, one male, and one female. Perhaps two of the servants had snuck downstairs to toy with each other. Thinking it better that she catch them and send them on their way than to have a guard catch them and punish them, Sidonie rounded the corner in the cellar to confront them. What she saw, however, left her speechless.
Rowan and Dahlia were having sex against a wall near the wine barrels. And there was no denying it was happening since most of their clothes were gone and she could see nearly everything. Sidonie’s mouth was open, but she couldn’t find her voice. How could Rowan do this to Bree? Especially with her.
Sidonie ran out of the room and up the stairs, shaking and beginning to cry. She was about to turn into the hall when Dagan rounded the corner and without looking, she ran right into his hard chest.
“Whoa, Sid. Sorry. I didn’t see you coming in.”
Sidonie was too shaken up to apologize to him, tears streaming down her face.
“What the hell? Sidonie, are you alright? Are you hurt?”
“Rowan,�
�� she sputtered, trying to wipe the tears away. “Rowan and Dahlia. Oh, no, just no.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say it, to tell him. Instead, she just pointed behind her, to the door that led down to the wine cellar.
“Stay here,” Dagan commanded and rushed past her and down the stairs. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and came around the corner, he saw Rowan lying on the floor, almost naked and barely coherent.
“Rowan! Can you hear me? Snap out of it!” Dagan reached around his robes for his satchel, glad he decided not to take it off earlier. He pulled out a bottle of elixir. It might not cure everything that was wrong, but it may be able to clear Rowan’s mind enough so that he could find out what happened. Dagan held the bottle to Rowan’s mouth and forced him to drink it.
Within moments, Rowan began to come to, whispering “Bree” over and over again. Then suddenly, he shot up from the floor.
“Holy hell!” he yelled. He couldn’t remember everything just yet, but pieces were coming clearer to him as the elixir coursed through his veins. Dahlia, powder, kiss. No.
“Where did she go? The bard? Where is she?” Rowan asked, almost shouting as he pulled his trousers back up and threw his shirt over his head.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see her when I came in. You’ve been poisoned. Did she do this to you?”
But Rowan didn’t answer. Instead, he shot past Dagan and up the stairs. He ran down the hallway and out into the courtyard. He figured she wouldn’t walk out of the front gate, which was guarded. But how else would she escape? There was a hidden exit in the gardens that he had used many times to get in and out of the kingdom, unseen. Though it was unknown to anyone who wasn’t a spy or a knight, Rowan could think of no other means for Dahlia to escape. Following his instinct, he turned left out of the courtyard, crossed the terrace, and headed into the gardens.
Just inside the gardens, Rowan found Dahlia’s corset on the ground. She must have stopped there to dress herself. The memories kept flooding back into his mind. Him and her, hot, sweaty, panting. The smell of her, the taste of her. He wanted to erase every one of them, but he needed to remember. He needed to know what he had done, what he had told her.
By the time Rowan made it to the exit, behind a garden trellis, there was no sight of Dahlia. Realizing her corset was still in his hands, he threw it across the garden, cursing. He turned around and started walking back to the castle, his face in his hand as he tried to come to terms with what had happened. He made it to the edge of the gardens when Bree and Dagan came running toward him. Before Bree could get too close, he held his arm out to stop her. He couldn’t bear to touch her, to have her touch him. He felt dirty and used.
Bree froze. “What happened? Are you alright?” But he didn’t answer her. He just stood there with his arm out in front of him, looking at the ground.
“Rowan. Talk to me! Please!”
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her what he did, what Dahlia made him do.
“Go back to the castle, Bree,” Rowan told her, still avoiding eye contact.
“No. Not until you tell me what is going on.”
“Now, Bree! Go!”
Dagan came forward and took Bree’s arm, pulling her away from Rowan. She tried to fight him, tried to pull her arm away, but he was too strong. Bree watched Rowan standing there as she was pulled across the terrace. Fear crept over her. He was going to leave again. She just knew it. He was going to leave and he probably wouldn’t come back. Why else would he force her to go? When she reached the courtyard, Nick and another knight ran past her and out toward the garden. She wanted to follow him, to go back to Rowan, but Dagan had both of her arms now, dragging her back into the castle.
Once they were inside, Bree rounded on Dagan, furious and panicked.
“How dare you?” she said, crying, with her hands balled up into fists, beating on Dagan’s chest. He didn’t fight her back or try to stop her. After a few moments, she collapsed into his arms, weeping.
Chapter Eleven
“Does it hurt now?” Vallica turned Simon’s hand over, gently examining the wound where his end finger had been just days before.
“Not much, really,” Simon answered, “though, there are times when I forget that it’s missing. The king did allow me to keep the finger. He called it a memento of my failure.”
Vallica was still outraged at her husband’s behavior in mutilating his most loyal soldier’s hand. She couldn’t say that she was surprised, however, as violence has been Silas’ preferred method of ruling for years. He liked to rule from fear, saying that fear was the fastest motivator. And he wasn’t wrong. People would spill any and all of their secrets due to their fear of what might be done to them if they didn’t. And Vallica had seen a fair share of people who had decided to withhold information or refused to play Silas’ games being punished in the cruelest ways imaginable.
“I am so sorry he did this to you. The selfish coward, too afraid to admit it was his plan that failed. Blaming you for his shortcomings.”
“It’s not your fault, Vallica. There was nothing you could have done. And I wish you hadn’t tried. If he thought you cared for me and that was the reason you tried to stop him, he would have hurt you, too.”
“I wanted to hurt him. To take away something he cared about. I thought for sure that killing Red would upset him. He acts like it didn’t bother him at all. How can you hurt someone who doesn’t care about anything or anyone?”
“You can’t. And it was foolish for you to try. If he knew it was you, he would have killed you. Thankfully, he can’t prove it was you.” Simon took Vallica’s hand in his. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you. This new Vallica, with all of this hatred and anger… I don’t like what you are becoming.”
Vallica wanted to pull her hand away and yell at him, but she knew he was speaking the truth. She had been doing things that even she was surprised by. And she was having thoughts that even she was terrified to have. What if Silas had caught her? There would have been no way to avoid whatever punishment he deemed worthy.
Simon kissed her and turned to leave, their precious time together coming to an end. Soon he would be back at the service of his king. Back to killing, and stealing, and whatever else his king required of him. Giving Vallica one last glance, he walked out, wondering if it really was too late to save her from herself.
~*~
Silas glanced over from his throne as Simon entered the throne room, then kneeled before his king and kissed his rings. This was customary to any loyal followers of Sire and Silas quite enjoyed the attention, purposefully wearing as many rings as possible.
“Simon, I trust that your hand is healing well?”
“Yes, Your Highness. The wound has almost closed.”
“Well, then, I am glad to hear it,” Silas replied. “I hoped to have a word with you about the next part of my plan—“
Silas was interrupted by the sound of someone entering the throne room from the courtyard.
“Ah, Dahlia, my dear. How pleasant it is to see you!”
Dahlia nodded to her father, then turned to Simon. “What have you done to yourself, Simon? Get your hand smashed in a bar fight again?”
Before Simon could answer, Silas chimed in, “Simon lost a finger, dear daughter, for the regrettable failure of killing our favorite queen. I trust that he has learned a grand lesson from this.”
“I’m sure he has,” Dahlia replied. “However, I bring great news to you father. Unlike my company here, I have succeeded in my task to infiltrate the security of our favorite queen’s castle.”
“Oh, splendid! Just marvelous, my dear. Please sit and tell me all about it.”
Dahlia smirked at Simon as she walked past him, leaving the throne room with her father. Simon was her father’s favorite confidant, and Dahlia often found herself envious of their relationship. The way Silas immediately called upon Simon to assist him and the way Simon was so eager to please th
e king, made it harder for Dahlia to keep her father’s attention. She never felt she had to compete with her father’s mistresses, as they were mere whores, destined to be cast aside after a few months. Simon had stuck around for years, much to Dahlia’s dismay. Now that Silas cared nothing for Vallica, Dahlia should have been her father’s favorite, but unfortunately, Simon had been getting in the way.
All of that was about to change, however. For Dahlia had done something that her father never thought she could do. She had managed to prove him wrong when he doubted her abilities. Not only had she succeeded in getting inside the castle, twice, she had also managed to trick the queen’s personal guard into revealing the castle guard’s patrol times and changes, and the castle’s weak and vulnerable areas. She had also learned of the upcoming winter ball, which would provide a great distraction for her father. Though she wasn’t sure what her father had planned to do at the winter ball, he had certainly been happy to hear about it.
Silas was very pleased to hear about Dahlia’s progress and success. He praised her for the first time in years, which brought great joy to Dahlia. Her father was even pleased to hear about Dahlia seducing the queen’s favorite guard.
“I can just see the queen now, imagining your legs wrapped around him every time she looks at him,” Silas said while smacking his daughter on the thigh. “Just splendid!”
“I am glad you approve father,” Dahlia said.
Silas got up from the table in which he had been sitting with Dahlia and walked over to a cupboard in the corner. Dahlia knew that her father kept trinkets and mementos in that cabinet as tokens of his many feats and conquers over the years. He took something small from a drawer, then stretched it out in his hand as he walked back to her. He held it up in the light for her to see.
